A Song of Changes Past
by Silver-Creasent-MOON1995
Summary: Lyanna married Oberyn, Jamie's is at the Wall, Lysa married Robert Baratheon, Cersie married Jon Arryn. Arya and Dany are fostered at Dorne, Jon's there too. Tywin has plans, Ramsay is a creep, Joffery is still an incest baby, Gendry is trueborn. The North has sent an envoy, and all hell as broken loose in court. What happens when everything changes? Kings Landing goes mad.
1. The moment Rhaegar regrets everything

Authors Note: It's been a long time since I've written a story or submitted anything to . This is the somewhat dramatic, humorous story of what might have been about the Song of Ice and Fire. Most everyone is the same, a few parentages have been changed around and some personalities quirked. This story doesn't really have a plot, it's kind of just flowing but it'll no doubt find it somewhere. I'm not even asking you guys to give it a chance! Just enjoy it, or flame it, I don't particularly care. Anyway, Enjoy!

~Silver

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**Chapter I | The moment Rhaegar begins to regret everything**

Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andal, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, The Last Dragon, Father to Aegon and Rhaerys and husband of Elia Martell; absolutely hated tourneys. The weight of it upon the budget of the kingdom, the upstart knights and lords who drank too much and fathered too many bastards. Their daughters who attempted to slip into Aegon's bed to become queen and the knights who lusted after his daughter. It was no small feat to be king, something he neither wanted nor cared for at all. Simpering lords trying to gain a foothold in the kingdom, the wars and the battles that they all lusted for, the Kings Justice that they begged for. It made him ill, it made him drink and write sad songs. The upside was that Elia always made it a point to sleep with him whenever he grew melencholy, but beating Rhaerys in a horse race worked as well. Spending time with Aegon was more exhuasting than anything for him.

But here he was, watching his son enter the melee, now that was a barbaric sport if there ever was one. No honor in chaotic fighting. But he supposed it matched a battle well enough that enough men pissed their pants to stop attempting to go to one.

Robert Baratheon obviously was having far too much influence on his thoughts it appeared, well him and Oberyn.

He wanted as the formerly mentioned Lord's son strapped on his armor, staring up longingly towards their box and Rhaegar searched for where his eyes laid... _'Of fucking course...'_ Arya Stark, the most wild lady in Kings Landing, beautiful like her aunt, none of the lady-like qualities of her mother, all the spirit of her Uncle Brandon and all the Stark looks of her family. It appeared that the Black Stag was smitten, he almost felt bad as he watched his violet eyed niece and the Wolf Girl intertwine their fingers together, ice and fire if there ever was a matching. He immeditatly wondered what Catelyn was thinking when she saw them together after Arya and her mother being apart for close to eight years now. They giggled light heartedly, though he knew that the Desert Wolf really wanted to join the tourney, she even stormed her Uncle Oberyn's office with her Bravossi sword and three guards on her tail before she was bodily hauled out by her cousin Jon Martell. It was actually rather hilarious seeing the Red Viper being held a sword point by a girl who barely reached the height of her riding pony who stood at 5 hands. But of course this was beyond the point that young Gendry Baratheon, the Black Bull, Heir to the Storm's End was smitten with a girl who was trapped in the claws of a dragon. Though he had to admit if there were two people who could get that girl away from his youngest sibling it would be the Baratheon, the other he'd rather not think about him getting to the flint eyed Northern Girl.

However his attention was drawn to yelling and he knew it was Ser Joffery Hill of the Vale, bastard son of Cersei Arryn, suiting up with his squire a boy named Dickon Rivers of the Twins Crossing, one of the many insufferable Frey boys with the receding chin, high voices and beedy eyes. His guilded silver and gold armour and a long well tempered sword gave away his noble roots though he was a bastard, Joffery clouted the boy with his metal glove before pulling it on and drawing his sword, no doubt getting ready to lose by a more ready hand than his own. Why Jon Arryn put up with the Bastard or didn't put him out of the Moon Door was beyond Rhaegar but he wished someone would off the lad soon. He could see Edric Dayne speaking with Loras Tryrell, a pair of charmers no doubt but neither would join the melee lists, their fathers feared the deaths of two important sons, an heir and a possible Kingsguard. He supposed Gendry ought to not have been listed either, but Robert Baratheon didn't care, he had two other sons already even if Robin was weak in the head. But then again Gendry would always rise to fight in the lists if a tourney was around, just to keep his own blood pumping and his skills sharp. One must fear his wrath or however their words went.

Oh Rhaegar was far too deep in his cups this time around.

He scanned the area again before finding the creepy pale eyes of Ramsay Bolton, Legitimized Bastard of Bolton and a downright creep. He was part of the Northern delegation that brought along Smalljon Umber who already smashed his way through the jousting tournament and Cley Cerwyn who took second in the swordsmanship tourney just the day before. Then there was Dacey Mormont, who was listed in the melee as well and Rhaegar could see her grin on her face as she hefted her mace and axe in each hand covered only in boiled bear hide and rough iron with no helm. Northern people, what in the Seven Hells were they even made of? Then there were the Greyjoys, Asha and Theon each taking first and second in the archery tournament much to the disappointment of the peasants who cheered on an Anguy Hawkseye, mystery competitor who took third and three bags of silver with him. His eyes roamed further to Arianne and Rhaerys in deep talks with Jon pointedly glaring at the back of Aegon's head. Aegon had of late been trying to get under Arya's skirt, he son better be careful lestt he end up with a good beating from his cousin. The Seven only knew how close Jon and Arya were, or even worse his own Aunt Daenarys who was now whispering in Arya's ear. They were just about as subtle as Renly and Loras.

He heard the horn blast and watched with little attention as all the competitors rushed the dusty ring and he could hear a long screech of an axe on cold steel as Dacey Mormont quickly struck down Joffery Hill and made a beeline for Renly who was locked in arms with Ramsay Bolton and his dastardly knives. Gendry had made quick work of other lordlings including Dickon Tarly who went down with a smack of a hammer to his gut. Next thing was Renly down, then Ramsay as Gendry crossed arms with him and knocked him out with a clean blow to the jaw. One could hear Robert's bellowing from the dais bellow his. Dacey was next as some knight made a grab for her teat making her growl and shot forward only to be caught by a wayward swing of a mace the knocked her to the ground bleeding from her arm and head. Arya and Asha were now screeching, while Daenarys and Mya attempted to calm them, though Arya looked ready to take up arms herself. Elia Sand was absolutely destroying the knight that knocked out Dacey before joining her in the dust from an uppercut to the jaw. Gendry it seemed hadn't given up and was bellowing as he knocked men left and right, his black and gold armour rippling under the sunlight something fierce in the sun. Until someone managed to snap the wooden arm of his hammer. Then it all grew quiet as Gendry began to dole the out with his armored fist, knocking out several lords before he stood in the circle of fallen warriors, his helmet long since knocked off as he stood proudly as his father and the Storm Lords began to chant his moniker over and over again.

_'BLACK BULL! BLACK BULL! BLACK BULL!'_

Rhaegar watched amused as Gendry took the carefully chosen pure white roses and walked towards the Royal Dias towards Arya who looked positivly murderous. A pert grin on Gendry's face as he wipped away sweat from his forehead and tossed the crown onto her lap, Dany laughed loudly at the face the Stark girl made. The Targaryen princess took the wreath from her lap and placed it on her deep brown almost black curls and grinned as Gendry bowed lowly to the Royal Family as well as the girl he had crowned.

It was going to be an interesting time at court for the next few years it seemed...

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Alright let me start things off by clarifying a few bloodlines really fast...

Lyanna Stark married Oberyn Martell

Jon Snow Martell

Robert Baratheon married Lysa Tully

Mya

Gendry

Edric

Robin

Catelyn Tully married Ned Stark

Robb

Sansa

Arya

Bran

Rickon

Cersie Lannister married Jon Arryn

Joffery Hill

Myrcella _true _

Tommon _true_

Stannis Baratheon married the Selsye Folrent

Shireen


	2. The Wolf and His Pup

**Authors Note: I**'m so pleased to see a nice turnout of people reading a reviewing the story. Those of you worried about any Gendrya happening there will be some surprises coming around don't worry, but they aren't endgame either. I would also like to add that this story isn't exactly following a strict plot or timeline, most chapters will be posted out of order to make way for the explanations of the character's changes though it's all quite important to the overall feel of the story. Once again, I haven't decided just yet on a plot, but it's kinda picking up in my head. Enjoy!

_~Silver._

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**Chapter II | The Wolf and His Pup**

**[Five Months Previous of the Tourney at Kings Landing]**

Unlike his wife Ned received almost monthly letters from his daughter, the child that despite the distance he was closest to. Who looked the most like him with her pale skin, lanky limbs, long face and deep brown curls and the flinty grey eyes of his house. Even her chin and nose took his shape, though she had her mother's mouth and eye shape leading to a more almond cut than a rounded one like his, though if anything it made her look even more wolf-like from a young age. Eddard loved his children, his son Robb that looked nothing like him but carried every lesson he taught him well, Bran who was apt with a blade and better with a book or horse, and wild young Rickon who took to a battle-axe as well as any Northern man, then beautiful Sansa with the bell like voice and the tumbles of red curls around her freckled face though she had Lyanna's eye shape though all of the Tully coloring. Eddard loves his little wolf pack, his sons and his daughters equally... except that Arya held a special place in his own beating heart. When she was born she came out screaming, nearly howling really, her tiny hands beating away the ones that held her, pooing rather well into Robb's hands making him guffaw rather loudly. Her own mother could barely hold the child to her breast without Arya screaming and snarling like a tiny monster. But it was quickly realized that Eddard could hold her, he could hold her tiny body in one hand and the moment that he cradled her in his arms - fully expecting the screams, all went silent as she finally opened her eyes. Grey to grey, flinty and they seemed to measure him. She had yet to own her eyes wide enough for the maester to mark them down, he had run a single calloused finger down the center of her face tracing the outline of tiny lips and her chin. He could feel tears falling from his cheeks and watched through clouded eyes as she raised her tiny hands as if to wipe them away, he pulled her up and against his neck where he felt her soft skin snuggle against his. He held her tightly against him and her tiny fingers clung to the wolf fur he wore around his neck. Eddard pulled her away and was once against entranced by her grey eyes, so much like his own, the tufts of dark hair that promised his color on the top of her head, the shape of her nose screamed Lyanna when they were young and for a few moments he wondered if for all her Stark coloring if she'd be like Sansa or Wily Lyanna. It was he who whispered her name, 'arya' in a hushed tone and when the maester asked if he could take her to the Sept to be presented to the Seven it was Ned who held her close to his chest and shook his head, "This is a wolf-pup, she'll be taken to the Godswood." Arya was, wrapped up in the fur of a wolf and laid in front of the weirwood tree, a dab of it's blood-like sap on her forehead as Ned sat in front of her, Ice laying across his knees. Catelyn stood there, awkwardly with he hands on Robb and Sansa's shouler. Ned reached down to grab his daughter from the forest floor and held her to him, "You'll be Stark... ture wild-born Starks, wolfsblood is in you..." He had seen it in Brandon, in Lyanna, in his own father. The wrath of the wolf could be seen in Robb during his training, none of it in Sansa, but Arya was practically bubbling it.

It was no wonder that Catelyn couldn't figure out their youngest daughter. Couldn't quite understand that from a wolfsblooded girl she couldn't form a flower. Catelyn attempted to tame her, burning her boys clothing; Arya just stole more. Taking away her horse; Arya spent the night in the Wolfswood at the base of the Weirwood tree. Ban her from archery; Arya simply stole a tourney sword and practiced in her own room. Catelyn couldn't get her to do a thing. Arya was all grace on a horse, all types of elegance when she wore her leather britches and her cotton shirt as she stepped through a dance of wooden swords. But with upon a dance floor or in a solar she became as clumsy as a newborn, stumbling over her words, pricking her fingers with tiny needles while she played with real blades in the courtyard. To all they saw Arya as a boy, brutish, an unlady-like, unmarriageable and generally rather disgraceful to be born to such a noble and high house. To all Arya remained aloof and rather uncaring, preferring to rebel and make them eat her words. But Eddard knew his daughter best, saw how the jeers of young stable lads and squires called her horseface and ugly made her eyes shine with not anger but shame and her skin redden from not embarrassment but sadness. While the young handmaidens that tended to the girls sneered at the mud-streaked youngster, even her own sister disdainfully treated her, he watched as she seemed to sink lower. His little wolf-pup, the Stark of the family, drip away. He'd watched it with Lyanna, but Lyanna had the support of an elder brother just like her and just as wild. Arya was the wild one, she had no one standing there agreeing with what she did, praising her skills with a sword or her ability to ride a mountain horse with such agility and grace. Ned tried, oh did he try to see her sword work, go riding or hunting with her, he tried to praise her. But it all seemed too late as she grew cynical, seeing ever compliment as a backhanded sneer at her, growing away from the family and spending more time training away. She was wild and rebellious, hurt and confused as to why exactly she was so different from her mild-mannered siblings. Catelyn did not help, abolishing her publicly in front of the household, asking Sansa to help her, bringing Arya's moral lower.

Eddard had seen what such tactic do to ladies like Arya, the forced breeding of young ladies of noble birth had nearly broken Lyanna, only made Maege Mormont more angry and the God's only knew of the stories that came from the South of daughters of noble families being sent to the Silent Sister for their disobedience. They were nearly broken ladies, smiling sweet smiles with dead eyes and Eddard simply knew that he couldn't allow that to happen to his grey-eyed daughter who had a storm living inside her. It wasn't the Red Viper that asked to visit Winterfell, it was Eddard who asked the Red Viper to visit Winterfell. Along with his wife Lyanna and son Jon Martell. If there was anyone that Eddard knew could help his daughter it would be his own wild sister. They had come in a storm of swords and polished armor, with Lyanna wildly enbracing her brother in happy tears, Jon hitting it off fabulously with Robb and Oberyn sending his youngest Sand Snakes to play with Bran. But it was the appearance of young Daenarys Targaryen the Stormborn that was the tipping scale. Oberyn had been entrusted to foster the princess at Dorne and along with this trip to Winterfell had picked up the girl from Kings Landing. She was all platinum beauty with pale skin and long features that were already beautiful even at the age of 12, his own daughter skulked behind him, all dark eyes and hair watching the girl like a wolf. Lyanna had been the first to coax the girl from behind her father's wolf skin cloak, her own around her thin waif like shoulders while flinty eyes stared up at her.

She gasped before crouching down to approach her nieces level, Ned would have sworn upon all the Old Gods and the New that he was looking at a much older Lyanna staring at her younger. "Hello there darling, I'm your Aunt Lyanna Martell."

The girl quirked her head to the side and nodded almost imperiously, "You're Da's sister, the one who went to Dorne. I'm Arya."

"I know you're Arya sweetling."

"I know you're Lyanna aunt."

The smiles were even mirrored to each other, wolfish smirks playing across their lips.

"You're very pretty for a girl of your age."

Eddard knew this too, for all of the teasing it was clear that Arya was growing into her features a bit more.

"You're a liar."

"Arya!" came the gasp of Catelyn be his side, "Apologize to your Aunt."

"No need Cat... now tell me why would you call me a liar Young Arya?"

"Sansa is the pretty one, I'm the ugly horse faced one."

"I see... now does Sansa have eyes color of stormclouds?"

"...no."

"Does Sansa have the skin pale as a weirwood tree?"

"...no."

"Does Sansa have the hair the color of the bark of the Wolfswood's trees? What of the Stark nose or the long face?"

"...no, Sansa looks like a fish."

"Yet you do not. What do you look like Arya?"

"A wolf...?" the words almost came out as a question.

"Aye a wolf, and wolves are misunderstood beings. You wear it as your sigil and it's blood runs hot through your veins."

"Da says that too, he says I have wolfsblood and he said you have it too."

"Aye, I have wolfsblood, lots of it. Makes me a bit different than everyone else, it's strange isn't it? Being the only one like you around, no one else wanting to practice archery or go riding."

"Yes!"

"You feel lonely, sad and confused."

"Yes..." her voice was softer now and Eddard couldn't see the shine of her eyes but he knew it was there.

"I felt the same, for such a long time I did. But it's alright now, everything is alright now."

"Why?"

"Because you find people who love you for you, that's all Pup."

"Oh..."

"Mmmhmm, and there's a girl here who might love you for you if you let her?"

"Who?"

"Dany? Come here please!" the Targaryen princess approached her violent eyes scanning over the Stark who jutted her chin out and stared right back at her, arms crossed over her chest.

"Aren't you gonna curtsy?" the silvery blonde girl asked tilting her head to the side.

"It's my home, you must curtsy first."

"It's my country."

"It's your brother's country."

The stared and all the adults watched the scene unfold as Daenarys took a step forward staring down the grey eyes with her own. Arya right back up, her mouth set into a harsh line as she awaited whatever came. It seemed as though something was being said between them that none of the adults could understand. Something strange as they stared into each other's eyes. Eddard was suddenly overcome with the image of the Sun and Moon standing together. "You are very beautiful..." the dragon girl finally whispered before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, "Show me around Winterfell Lady Arya?" linking their arms together. Arya seemed excited clinging to the princesses arm and nodding enthusiastically.

"Tis just Arya, Princess."

"Then to you I am Dany."

"I think we can agree to that."

Needless to say the whole of the adults were shocked to see the wolf girl taken into gentle hands of Daenarys who she pulled towards the Wolfswood already the fantastic tales of the First Men on her lips. Ned felt a tap on his shoulder and found Oberyn staring after the pair with Lyanna at his side. They both seemed rather determined as they watched his little wolf disappear into the forest's edge.

"We want to foster Arya at Sunspear, in Dorne."

"Done."

It was Catelyn who nearly cried out, grabbing Ned's arm with fevor.

"Arya needs to learn to be a lady, with freedom to choose what kind of Lady. She can learn arms and dance the ways of steel, but with that sort of grace she'll learn control and be able to work through a real ball floor. She is wild and untrained-"

"Lord Oberyn you aren't saying that I haven't raised my daughter correctly are you?" the biting tone made Ned wince.

"Not at all my Lady Catelyn, rather that Arya is a different breed of lady from yourself and your other daughter. You raised her the best you could, but... she needs someone who can understand her. Lyanna does, perhaps the Mormont's if you want to keep her close. The Tyrells though you share no allegiance to them. Martell's are Arya's family, with many women in the ranks of power, she'll flourish in Dorne without the pressure of conventional lady manners. She'll be deadly and beautiful and retain that wolfsblood much like my wife here has." Oberyn snagged Lyanna about the waist, "Do you not want whats best for your daughter Lady Catelyn?"

"Catelyn... please, let me take Arya. She is much like me, she needs to be taught. What better way than with family, you can make further alliances when Arya comes of age and she grows into her looks and her manners. Please, let us foster her Catelyn, she is my niece no harm will come to her."

In the end it was Eddard who had agreed, completely and fully, not even caring for the shrieking of his wife who feared for her daughter. As it were Arya took the news wonderfully, realizing that her and Dany would live together and that she'd learn to fight. They were there for three weeks until Arya was sent away. Poised on a Sand Steed, wearing a long cape made of black wolf fur, her skin-tight leather britches dyed deep black with a long Stark grey riding dress over it, her newly acquired wolf pup Nymeria sitting in a basket and a small Bravoosi blade specially made by Eddard's orders sitting at her waist. She whispered with the princess before leaving Winterfell, hardly looking back at her father who stood solemnly with his fingers curled over Ice and the shine of tears in his mirror grey Stark eyes that shined in hers though she tried to giggle with Daenarys. Both the wolf and the pup knew that if the girl looked back she'd never leave. So Ned left, retreating to the Wolfswood that he often shared with Arya deep in his prayers for her safety from the Old Gods.

Somehow Eddard knew that the girl would never see her ancestral home again, though it pained him to think of such things. But as years passed the letters were frequent and long, detailing days and weeks of training and dances, adventures with Trystanne and Quentyn, rides with Edric Dayne and the pestering annoyance that was Gendry Baratheon when he rode South on the behalf of his father. Daenarys who clung to her side like a burr, who was called the Sun while Arya was the Moon. Her mastery of Bravoosi Water Dancing and a tiny line about a stolen kiss by an unnamed knight though Eddard guessed it to be Edric and Gendry. How she learned to dance from Arianne Martell, spent days with Nymeria and Lyanna. Her dear 'Uncle Obie' who dotted on his niece with such fervor. Then the raiders that attacked Starfall while she stayed a week, the slaying of several raiders by her hand and her wolf earning her a moniker. The gift from a man from Pentos who gave Daenarys stone dragon eggs and they attempted to make them hatch. Breeding sand steeds and growing each month she was from his sight. It would be a blessing to see his daughter again, just once more to see what the girl who was behind all these fantastic stories would seem to be.

He hoped she kept to her Wolfsblood.

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End Notes: Well that was a fun chapter to write, Ned and Arya's relationship has always been interesting and I think that if Lyanna had lived that Arya and her aunt might've been close. Plus I get to throw in some Dany! Which is always a plus since I love her so dearly. As always I hope you enjoyed, I won't be here all weekend so no updates, but new chapters since I'll have nothing better to do on my drive down to Los Angeles tomorrow.

So in terms of ages I'm putting it like this:

Robb- 19  
Jon- 20  
Sansa- 19  
Gendry- 21  
Arya- 18  
Dany- 20  
Bran- 16  
Rickon- 14


	3. Reigning Queens and Their Letters

Elia was done, finally, after putting it past the Master of Laws Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon their Master of Ships she had finished drafting the letter and was sending it to the Maesters to copy and send to every Lord's and Landed Knight's castle in Westros; a call to arms it was not, a call to peace and frivolity it was. Nearly twenty-two years since Rhaegar took the crown, since he became King. Today she was calling all their Lord's children to the Red Keep for two years of strengthening ties and banners together. Hunts were planned, tours of the Crownlands, ships and boating, great Garden Parties, Feasts and Tourneys. Enough excitement to keep the young Lords and Ladies from the Tip of Dorne to the Wall occupied. The whole thing was Rhaenys idea, it was rare that children of noble families met others before betrothals outside of wars and the occasional meet up at the Red Keep, maybe even a fostering or two. But none hardly met at all. Rhaeny's idea of it was to bring everyone together every fourth of a century, each generation strengthening ties and vows to each other and the king, ruling out any sort of Rebellion as children, or young adults as it eldest princess was backed up by Lord Arryn along with surprisingly Lord Lannister who agreed. The Master of Coin was quick to point out that the garrison of flour and corn were full, the livestock well and the whole of the country at relative peace— in other words they could afford a year or even five of base desires of frivolity. Though Elia had her doubts on exactly why Lord Twyin had also pushed for this to take place as he himself was not a man known for the enjoyment of such things. But really the Queen had other thoughts plaguing her as the days wore on, unrest and grumblings were spoken, another reason that it was much smarter to do this now. Weed out potential threats and to allow for the Kingdom to understand the full might of the Iron Throne.

As the Queen it was Elia's job to write the letter and send it off the maesters, her husband was no help, droning on and on about politics and alignments and nothing about the well-being of the children. Elia knew that this would please the fathers looking for brides and wealthy heirs for their daughters and sons, but for the mothers it would be drab if they weren't to mention what was to be done at the Red Keep, why they should send their precious children to the maw of the dragons with many others in their wake all poisonous and seeking a foothold. She had to appeal to them as well. Aegon was help in this matter, though his carnal lusts were little use when he started going off on all the beauties he'd met— as Rhaenys put it:

"The women of the Kingdom are not your personal brothel!"

That shut up her son right quickly honesty. Elia wasn't pleased with how it was worded per-say but the results were nice as Aegon stopped talking about Myrcella Arryn's tits. Even if she was raised in Dorne she didn't want to hear her son talk about his upcoming sexual conquests. She often wondered if Aegon spent too much time around Robert Baratheon and Viserys, drinking and whoring wasn't a grand way for a prince to conduct himself and Rhaegar was too busy trying to keep the Kingdom in working order to discipline his own son. Elia wasn't much help as Aegon was a man grown and nothing listened to her, though he was terrified of his sister. Not that anyone could blame her, her closest friends were Oberyn's Bastard Sand Snakes. But nothing of her wayward son could be done of it now until she signed this letter…

"My Loyal and Strong Lords and Ladies of Westeros

Greetings from the Iron Thorne, I, Elia Martell of House Targaryen, wife of the Good King Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name, Lord Protector of Westros, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, The Chosen of the Seven and the Bard am sending an invitation to you loyal and good retainers of the lands. Rhaegar is approaching his twenty-fifth year on the throne in three years. There will be much frivolity as well as a Grand Tour of the Kingdom from Dorne to the Wall. However in the two years leading up to this Grand Tour and commencement of his reign we ask of you one thing: to send your lovely daughters and strapping sons to the Red Keep, where we for the next two years will foster them and their ties to the Iron Throne. Here your sons will learn swordplay from the Kingsguard and our finest Knights of the Realm, your daughters taught from mine own handmaidens and ladies. There will be grand hunts through the CrownLands, garden parties and small-time sailing through Black Water Bay, tourney's held and great honors and knighthoods bestowed upon your sons. There will be betrothal's made, alliances sanctified and reasserted as your children will get to know the others of the Kingdom. We hope it shall lead to peace among our younger generation, to foster strength and ties between the Seven Kingdoms. This I ask of you, then during the Grand Tour, those children you sent to use shall be dropped at their holdfasts where they will return to you, as men and women of the Kingdom. This is not a command, it is simply a wish that you shall send your children here to learn at the feet of our Good King Rhaegar and his Council.

I, Elia Martell of House Targaryen do so ask this of you, and hope that you respond with your precious heirs and ladies to come here to Kings Landing for peace and prosperity to be fostered.

Signed:

Elia Martell of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms"

She sat back and re-read it over and over again. Searching for mistakes and problems, though the maesters would sort anything grievous out once they got it. They were a meticulous breed of men. Whistling a low tune a woman came into the room and picked up the scroll handed to her before bowing out quickly. Elia reached for her glass of wine, happily sipping on it as she watched the clouds go by in her solar. This spring the starting tourney would commence and those who answered her call to Court will be having nothing but a grand time, she hoped at least. The Game was in play always, she supposed new players would help, at least that's what Olenna suggested the old thorn.


	4. Jon Does Know Something

It had long been Jon Martell, the son of Oberyn Martell the Red Viper and Lyanna Stark, who was the pride and joy of the Water Gardens. With his viper eyes in a steel grey and a broad trusting grin that seemed to draw someone in, though his face was long and serious looking when he did not smile. He was well built and lean, darker skinned but like his half-sister Tyene favored his mother but there was no doubt of the Dornish descent in his blood. He was the only son, doted upon by his 4 elder half-sisters, and protective of the 4 younger. Jon always supposed he ought to be angry with his father for keeping paramours, but Lyanna never did mind too much. She had a problem with him sneaking around with his paramours, but as long as none of Oberyn's bastard children or mistresses got in the way of their noble duties and she was aware of what was happening she didn't mind. As Lyanna put it, "Just say it aloud if you're fucking someone else Obie, don't lie, just be honorable about it." To say that his Uncle Eddard wasn't happy with this arrangement was an understatement, thinking it a slight to his sister's honor, the letters to Dorne were explosive enough. Seeing his Uncle at Winterfell put a booming voice to those harsh words. It was all out of love, of this he was sure. But things were done differently here in Dorne, paramours were like sister-wives and the current one Ellaria Sand and Jon's mother were particularly close.

Jon always was pampered, but he knew better than to piss off the women around him. Between his bastard sisters, his cousin Arianne and his mother he knew better. Quent and Trys didn't, maybe even Edric, but Jon knew when to bit his tongue and bear it. With his dark locks and grey eyes he looked Stark, with his quirked grin and slited eyes he was marked for Martell. Which was why everyone knew he was the responsible one. All of Doran's patience, the Stark honor and nobility, Oberyn's tact and sense of wordplay couples with his mother's wildfire made Jon into the oldest and oddest, even if he really was somewhere in the middle in terms of ages. Edric was of his age, Dany was older than he, Arya younger, Tyene older but Elia younger as well, Quent was of his age and Trys younger. But no matter what the age was, Jon was the one in charge. He was the one who stopped Quent from playing with wildfire he found in the Keep, kept Arya from knocked Lord Santagar's daughter into the sand, kept peace between the oft-warring Teyne and Dany who were far too alike for their own good. Trys was the only one who was helpful by simple sleeping the day away or reading books, Arianne was useless because all she could do was pick sides, the same with Edric who only took Arya's and furthered her anger.

It had been this way for years now. The situations changing between going off on midnight rides to midnight trips to brothels, to slapping down arrogant Southern Ladies to slapping down far too handsy knights (not that Jon cared about Arya doing that). He was in charge, often dragging away cousins and foster siblings by their ear to Doran or Lyanna seeing as how Oberyn would simply reward their bad behavior. Sometimes Jon wondered if the Red Viper was even his father, then they looked into each others eyes and both were reminded that for all of Jon's honor and responsible ways he was still a viper.

He was a viper that hid behind a mask of seriousness and honor, who fought tourneys and named his own mother the Queen of Love and Beauty endearing all to him for his familial compassion. He danced with the 'ugly' sisters and wrote beautiful songs for their mothers, while asking for war stories and advice from the Lords. He played the game well at Dorne. Court however, this was to be different. Jon could remember sitting with his father in his solar, a game of cyvasse set out between them. Oberyn in an open chested tunic and flowing sleeves with his white breeches tucked into boots. Jon dressed similarly though he wore a sword on his back, two handed, his great-great Grandfather Rickard Stark's sword that Lyanna brought down with her along with his wildling of a cousin in tow. Their House may not have a Valyrian sword, but a sword with a handle made of Weirwood and the steel interlaced with dragon glass. Even his own Uncle Eddard forgot about it's existence and Jon wondered why he'd forget such a magnificent blade. The name having long since lost to the ages of time Jon had yet to name it, though he had been mulling over it for sometime.

The day was hot, but the solar cool and the chilled wine plenty as they played together, their eyes focused on the board.

"Red Keep…"

"…hmm…?"

"So my son and his band of Dornish Followers are going to the Red Keep?"

"Aye, to the Red Keep, to court we walk. Home for Dany though."

"She will be well received, Rhaegar has missed his sister."

"I'd agree but I don't know what that feels like."

"Indeed, you are surrounded by nothing but women son. To some men it would be a pleasure, to you a hassle."

"They're all related to me in some way or another, it's not of much use."

"…hmmm…"

They played a few moves and Jon leaned his head on his fist as he glanced over the board.

"There will be plenty of women not related to you at the Red Keep."

"Aye, there will be."

"Gold diggers who'll spread their legs hoping to get a bastard. Hoping for you to marry them."

"I suppose."

"You can fuck them, make sweet love, but do not father a bastard."

Jon quirked an eyebrow and looked at his father, "My, such advice from one such as you Father."

"Don't get insolent with me. It's different, all my daughters are products of noble bastards or lowborns. I pick my mother's well, they may not be of good stock but there will not be a war started over them."

Jon hummed and moved his piece overtaking one of Oberyn's strong ones.

"If a bastard comes to them, you'll be held by honor to marry them. We are a snake pit in Dorne, this you know for you're the son of a viper, but we are snakes among our own kind. There are rules here, rules you understand and see. They have rules too, the way they play is much more dangerous than us. I do not want a rose or a bridge getting buried into my sand; do you hear me Jon?"

Oberyn looked at his son who fiddled with a piece of the board between his thumb and forefinger, his grey eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at the black game item before setting it down to overtake the pieces on the board.

"I know better father, do not doubt me. I am the responsible one."

"Aye, you are."

"Oh and Father?"

"Hmm?"

"King."

Jon stood and finger the handle of the blade as Oberyn nodded looked at the board, "Aye, King…" the older man stood and walked to the window overlooking the water gardens where Dany swam while Tyene and Arya with their fair skin whispered in the shade of the trees. Such peace in the gardens, such peace with the children, summer children they were still. "Have you a name?"

"…" silence met Oberyn's ears before turning to look at Jon who stood in the doorway.

"For the sword, you cannot go into court with a sword such as yours without a name."

Jon paused and turned to look back at his father. "Viper's Son." he said before walking out the door no doubt going to see his horse in the stables.

"Viper's Son… a good name, for a good sword." Oberyn lifted the glass swishing the wine in the cup before drinking it down.

That day had been merely weeks ago, but still it stuck in Jon's head as he settled his cousin's nerves as they stood in the Throne room. Swathed in yellow and orange, Viper's Son strapped to his side as he watched Daenarys climb the steps to her brother's side. Arya sticking close to him decked in her white and gray while Nymeria curled around her ankles. He could see the stared already from the courtiers. This court where dragons ruled and bridge, roses, lions and hundreds of others fought to find favor with them. But the viper was here, young though he was and watchful, watchful for the boy in the lavender armor and the bastard sister who looked like summer itself, the girl with the steel eyes and the scimitar at her hip. He was responsible for them, the eldest but not by age, he knew how to play the game and they were his precious pieces.

'King' was all he thought as he bowed lowly to King Rhaegar, he wondered if the Targaryen was included in those precious pieces.


	5. Daughter of the Northern Summer

The Great Northern Brigade they were, a dozen of the strongest sons of the North with jutting chins and two-handed broadswords strapped to their backs, maces at their sides with large hefty steeds that bit anyone who drew near without paying them proper respect. Daughters with their long pale limbs and wide eyes savage even if they were highborn with nearly five dozen variations between Stark Grey to Reed Green were strong, the occasional yellow eyed among their number. They wore wolf and bear pelts as did their brothers, small knives strapped to their ankles and their faces defiant and sneering at these Southern Lords and Ladies in the Red Keep. They'd been the last to arrive, Lord Eddard Stark having made sure all of his banner men sent a daughter or son and very few would resist the order of their liege lord especially one as loved and fair as he was. As a show of goodwill and solidarity he'd even sent his children but not Robb as he was taking his place as Lord of Winterfell for the time being with Lords Umber and Karstark at his side as advisers for the willful Young Wolf as the smallfolk began to call him. But Bran, Rickon and Sansa all were going perhaps none as excited as Sansa who had for such a long time pleaded with her father to send her South, resenting even further her younger sister who'd been sent to Dorne all those nearly 10 years ago. She hadn't seen her sister since, none of her family has, Arya having never made the trip North. But they received many letters from her, her father more than anyone in the family, they spoke of days long spent in the Water Gardens and small feasts, hunting and sailing around Dorne. Her handwriting had improved Sansa noted, her language more flowery and the red-haired sister wondered if this newly minted Arya Stark would be more to her liking that the wildling she left as.

They were apporaching court now, given basins to wash in and clothing to change into. The three Stark siblings leading the charge of youths with Sansa in a light Myrish silk dress of light grey and a while fur cape, her wolf walking primly at her side while Bran walked with a sword strapped to his side, decked in dull grey armor with a snarling wolf for a helm tucked under his arm, Rickon looked feral his ruddy red hair a halo reaching his shoulders, the barest growth of a beard on his chin as he walked with Shaggydog following his movements while his axes clanged together at his hip. Behind them were Cley Cerwyn, Smalljon Umber, Dacey Mormont, the Manderly sisters Wylla and Wynefred, Ramasay Bolton the Albino, with many other younger sons and warriors of the North, each stoic and wearing heavy armor and capes looking closer to wildlings than nobles and sworn swords. Sansa focused on her father, in boiled leather and mail, a long wolf-fur cape around his shoulders and Ice strapped to his back, her mother in silky grey and blue her sharp chin held high as they marched through the doors of the Court. Sansa nearly gasped at the long daises and high windows, lords and ladies standing and sitting, the stone parapets and the snarling dragon skulls that lined the room, huge tapasteries as they approached the dais that shown of black and white marble where King Rhaegar sat, his son Aegon to his right in black and red, his daughter behind his son, the Queen seated to his left. But on the steps of the dais as Visery's Targaryen, pallid and soft looking with a sharp chin and wild purple eyes, a girl with silverly blonde hair who lounged with a girl decked in grey and orange as they watched the upcoming people. Three fine young knights draped in black and gold, one in lavender and white and the last in orange and yellow, with a few other women behind them looking deadly beautiful. Sansa bit her lips as they all flared out in front of the King who stood.

"My Lord Stark! Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell, I welcome you to the Red Keep." His voice lilted and soft sounding through it boomed through the court who clapped politely for her father.

He fell to his knees, bowing his head deeply and the other took their cue as they knelt, "You Majesty the pleasure is all mine. I thank you for welcoming us to your castle."

"Come Lord Stark stand, we are all friends here, you have traveled long and your bones must be weary. My daughter Rhaenys and my brother Viserys will shows your people to your rooms."

"Aye, I thank you for this my lord."

"You have also come a long way to see someone else other than myself have you not Lord Eddard?"

"Indeed, I have."

"Then you shall see her, My Lady Arya please stand and greet your father."

Sansa was shocked to see the girl that lounged with Daenarys Stormborn, stand, dressed in a flowing dress that was grey and with white edged, around her back was a flowing orange cape that marked her for a ward of House Martell, her wolf that she hadn't seen walked from the shadows to curl around her Mistress's ankles while the Princess herself stood to held steady the girl who's eyes seemed to glitter with unshed tears as she walked down the steps.

"It has been long indeed my King, that I have seen my Father and Mother."

The words were practiced, and her voice light thought Sansa could see the smirk on Daenary's face as she tiled her head back to talk to the young man in the orange and yellow armor realizing in that second that this must have been Jon Martell her cousin. She watched as the creature she knew once to be her sister approach, then saw the scabbard hanging from her hip and realized that she hadn't changed at all.

"Arya…" her father whispered and Sansa felt her heart clench. For all of her beauty, her lady-like ways and perfection she tried to portray she never was her father's favorite. She had none of the Stark Look, none of them did, but Arya did. She had her father's eyes and skin, his dark hair and even though she lived most of her life in the South, everyone could tell that she had winter spilling from her very pores. Eddard loved her, she knew this, that her father loved her. But it was never the way that he loved Arya, so dearly and so tenderly he loved his youngest daughter. Their connection was deeper than the girl who he had raised for her entire life, that lived with him and broke bread daily. It made her angry; was she not the best daughter, did she not do all that was expected of her and then some. While she read about her younger sister slaying bandits and learning the art of the sword, still a wilding, still not a lady, yet their father loved her more for it. Her wolf Lady at her sister bristled as she watched Arya embrace their father and tucked her head under his chin, as if they'd done it every day of their lives. She looked to her mother who looked both pleased and angered at the same time, no doubt wondering why exactly her daughter still had the wildling look about her. Eddard and Arya broke their embrace as she went to her mother, their touches more gentle though Sansa could see their mother longing to clutch her tightly to her, but she couldn't. Rickon beat her to her hug, clutching her tightly while she kissed his head softly, almost carefully remembering more the baby than the boy. Brandon hugged her lifting off her feet. Then she was in front of Sansa and she could see each line on her face, the full lips and the khol beneath her stormy eyes the brightened then even more than she thought was possible.

"Sansa…" her sister breathed pulling her tightly, "It's good to see you."

The voice was heartfelt and Sansa wasn't sure if she could still be angry with her younger sister for still having more favor than she. She held her back.

"It's good to see you as well Arya…"

They broke as Rhaegar clapped, "A family together again! Such a beautiful thing this is, I could compose a song of a wolf pack morphing together again."

"Surely you do not mean that my King? Would you waste your breath on a few feelings and tears for family?" Arya's voice was jesting and Catelyn turned to reprimand her.

"Oh? Waste of family, my I think we both know that family is important."

"Aye we do You Grace. But I'm not sure one of you soppy ballads will exactly show off a familial connection."

There was laughter among the court while Arya's eyes danced, Sansa could see the princess smirking and Jon Martell shaking his head. Pulling away from her sister's grasp she approached the dais again climbing it before returning to Daenary's side, who tucked an arm around her sister's shoulders as she leaned her head against the Targaryen's chest looking tired and drained, for all her jesting Sansa could see how emotionally drained she'd been to see her family again.

"I suppose this is true… maybe you'll compose something for Lady Arya?"

"With what? My sword, my lord?"

This earned a few more laughs.

"I believe you composed a few noises yourself with that already my Lady Arya."

"I have my lord."

"Perhaps you'd like to do it again, at the melee in the Tourney we're holding at the end of the week! How is that my Court? This coming Sunsday we'll be hosting the a week long tourney, the start of this grand adventure at court. There will be a feast on the last day, commemorating the greatest young warriors of our time, hunts will be set out into the Kings Woods and titles and lands given to warrior smallfolk to swear themselves to our Lords of Westros. Queens of Love and Beauty crowned and knights made, it shall be the beginning of this celebration of nearly Twenty-Five years of peace and prosperity of our lands."

A great cheer when up as Sansa watched Arya's eyes gleam, not dissimilar to the great black-haired beast behind him. She watched her father stiffen, unused to seeing his youngest behaving in such a strange manner. It was Arya, of that she could be sure, wearing a sword and speaking frankly to his Grace with no sense of decorum. But yet it wasn't the same girl, she had this strange gleam in her eyes and this tamed feral way about her. Her words were sharp and her eyes sharper, looking closer to that of Jon Martell's behind her he had the same look. Sansa cast a glance at her mother who looked almost angered at the state of her youngest.

Again Sansa wondered why it was Arya could do as she pleased while so many ladies of the court couldn't. What made her younger sister so special? This she didn't know, even as she watched her speak boldly with the king below his dais and clasped hands with the Princess, while glaring at the laughing lavender armored knight and the monster of a man behind her. What made them so special? Why wasn't she in Arya's place, she was the eldest, the more poised and preened for courts and tourneys, knights and friendships with Queens and Kings. She stared before letting her blue eyes move around the room, before finding a catlike face with long mahogany hair with an older young man holding a cane as he stood. The trio met eyes and they smiled at each other before she returning to her roaming gaze, glancing over a pretty blonde in Arryn colors with a darker haired blonde near her as well, and behind the a grand gold and silver guided knight with a face of a prince, not anything like Prince Aegon who leered at her from his stance at the dais. Then there was a group in red and green, a two boys on large and strong the other soft and fat with what seemed to be a sister that stood demurely besides them. There were others, knights and young lords, ladies from the Reach and Westerlands, a few she recognized faintly from the Riverlands. Sansa noticed they all watched each other with deft eyes and smiles filled with courtesy, she felt left out, strangely out of place. It was odd, back home she was the epitome of femininity, the leader among the ladies of the North except of course for Wild Wylla Mandery and the Mormonts. Sansa fidgeted under the gaze of Viserys Targaryen who leered at her openly, at least Prince Aegon was more sly about it, he offered his arm to escort her and her brothers to their rooms. She grabbed Rickon's arm linking it tightly knowing that her feral brother would protect her from Prince Viserys.

Sansa glanced back at Arya who had risen to follow them to their rooms, she wondered if she had to bunk with her or not. She didn't know if she wanted to or not, with this stranger who was her sister. But if she knew her father he'd demand that Arya stayed in their wing of the castle. She bit her lip and caught the eye of Rhaeny's who smiled back at her, gently as if trying not to scare her. But she did, all of them terrified her, this wasn't like the North. This was a different creature than the lands of winter.


End file.
